Come Back to Me
by Ally-chan1447
Summary: Based on the song Come Back to Me by David Cook. "Come back to me.” He said weakly. Then in a stronger voice he didn’t know he had he said “just come back. Please, someday just come back.” And with that he left. My 1st Fanfic ever published so please R
1. Chapter 1

It couldn't be helped. The atmosphere between the two had started to change. Arthur could feel it. Bloody hell, the changes were almost palpable in the air itself! It was thick as if a dense fog was always in the room. But the subject the fog surrounded was something he couldn't broche. Try as he might, if the subject ever did arise Alfred would dance around the subject till the conversation was circling around a different topic.

It hurt Arthur. It hurt like hell, knowing that something was progressively becoming worse for Alfred. It hurt the fact that Arthur couldn't help him. If he could help him Alfred would have probably came to him, talked to him, heck—maybe even left clues to what the hell was wrong if he couldn't talk. But Alfred had remained silent. And that, he supposed, was hurting him the most; the fact that he had remained silent. It felt like a sharp stab to his heart whenever Arthur tried to help. Maybe Alfred didn't want his help.

Well bullocks! If Alfred didn't want his help then that was perfectly fine. He was grown up. He could solve whatever bloody problem he encountered on his own. It was just fine with him… just fine. It WAS fine, damnit! In fact Arthur didn't want Alfred's problems. He had his own things to worry about. He was the personification of the Great nation of Britannia for God's sake! He could be worried about every little thing the twit did. Least… that was what he thought. He still remembered that morning, the morning of Alfreds' unexpected departure.

He had woken up in their bed alone. Which should have tipped him off that something was amiss from the start. However, he had been too preoccupied with his aching lower back, the previous nights' rather unexpectedly lively activities making themselves known on his body. In fact, just the thought of last night sent a warm pleasant flush across his body. Then he caught sight of his wrists, which were indeed turning a lovely shade of purple and blue, and gave a sigh. But his wrists were of little consequence and Arthur was smiling all while he dressed himself.

After making himself decent he left the bedroom and walked out of the room. On the way he noticed that all presence of Alfred was missing from their little home. He gravitated toward the kitchen only to find it empty. Arthur opened the refrigerator in hopes that Alfred had perhaps left some breakfast in there for him. At first when he noticed there was nothing in there that looked freshly cooked he sighed. Then he started to grumbled, Alfred had promised him to make all the meals when he was over. On the first day when they started their living arrangements Alfred had mad him swear that he would never cook over at his place. He agreed to it only if Alfred made his meals himself.

Arthur grumbled some more. It by now was apparent to him that the blasted idiot had left early without leaving him food. So he made the only breakfast he knew he could make that didn't involve appliances; he grabbed the jug of milk shuffled over to the pantry and grabbed a box of Raisin Brain and a bowl and plopped himself down on the kitchen chair. He didn't really like cold cereal. He preferred his morning meal to be warm, but he would keep his promises to Alfred and not cook in his house despite there not being a hot meal ready for him, most likely than not the bloody git had anticipated returning home before Arthur awoke.

He was almost done with his bowl and about mid chomp when he heard the front door open and close softly. Placing his spoon in his bowl he got up from his seat and went to the kitchen door. And there was Alfred, shrugging of his heavy winter coat and dusting the light snow off his cloths and person.

"Hey." Arthur called leaning against the door frame. With that Alfred looked up, albeit a bit startled that Arthur was there.

"Hey" he called back in a dull voice. Arthur felt a twinge inside. The man was still feeling down. His brows furrowed a slight bit. The man was still in that state after last night. The small annoyance that had been previously forgotten due to his good mood began bubbling in his chest.

"Where were you this morning?"

"Out." Alfred responded as he walked past him into the kitchen. He went over to the coffee maker got out a cup and poured himself some of the strong brew.

"Care to elaborate?"

"No"

There was an uncomfortable silence that hung in the air. This wasn't the first time Alfred had decided not to share to what he had been up to. The man in question then sat down at the table, one leg resting on the other with the knee propped up along the edge.

"Sit" the man told Arthur.

He hesitated at the door, entertaining the idea of ignoring his request. Then he slowly straightened from his position on the wall, and crossed the small space slowly with slight hopes to annoy Alfred. It didn't seem to work. So he sat down opposite and crossed his leg's and his arms over his chest. All the "good feelings" he had previously were gone, just the annoyance in his chest and a slight anxious feeling in the caverns of his chest.

He looked up at Alfred. The twit was staring down at his coffee with a melancholy look on his face. It was heart wrenching. Something was going to happen; he could feel it in his old bones. And he had a stronger feeling that he wasn't going to like it.

"Well? Would you like to explain yourself or wait until you've bore a hole in your drink?" his annoyance clear on his tone.

He looked up then and Arthur felt his heart stop. The expression his face created was one of guilt; an awful knowledge was in those eyes. It was as plain as day what was going to happen but all Arthur could think of was _No._

"I've decided…" He started then stopped and looked back into his beverage.

There was the silence again, but this one was as suffocating as it was uncomfortable. Arthur opened his mouth but sound refused to come out. The words were stuck in his throat as if he had just took a swig of Matthews Maple Syrup.

"Wha-what have you decided?" he said in a small trembling voice.

Alfred looked up again, straight into Arthurs eyes. The sadness was still there but there was something else there now, something looking a helluve a lot like determination.

"I've decided," he repeated "that I'm leaving"

Arthur stared, his eyes wide in disbelief and confusion.

"You're leaving?" he repeated slightly confused and unable to let the meaning of the words sink in.

"What do you mean 'you're leaving'?" he asked again a tremble in his voice.

"Just what I said," Alfred was staring straight into his eyes, unwavering. "I'm leaving."

"Why" Arthur asked after a lengthy moment.

"I can't stay here, I feel like I've lost my sense of self."

"Your sense of self? What the hell do you mean?" Arthur asked as his voice raised an octave.

Alfred leaned his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Your leaving me." Arthur said quietly as the horror dawned on him. Good God. That was it, wasn't it? He doesn't want me. "That's it isn't it? You don't love me" his voice got smaller and he started to tremble as he voiced his fears

"No!" Alfred said. "I want you to understand," he said slowly, "I do love you. I truly do, but I don't know who I am right now. There's something I need to do. I don't know what yet but I can't stay here."

With that he stood up and headed toward the kitchen door.

"Wait!" Arthur shouted as he lunged out of his seat and grabbed for Alfred's shirt and slammed into his back. "Please wait." He asked softly.

Alfred turned around and enveloped the smaller man in a hug.

"Please don't leave." He whimpered in Alfred's ear. "Please"

Alfred moved his head and placed his lips softly over Arthurs. It was then he remembered something, an expression Alfred had made last night. The kiss he was receiving had the same feeling that the look from last night had given him. A sense of hopelessness washed over him and his eyes started to sting. There was nothing he could do and he knew it. He had felt it coming from days ago.

Alfred removed his lips from Arthurs effectively ending the kiss and rested his forehead against Arthurs, eyes shut. He closed his eyes as well and sighed.

"I can't stop you can I?" he whispered. Alfred didn't respond for a while.

"I'm sorry" he said quietly and he let go and turned out the door.

Arthur's eyes snapped open once he felt Alfred's warmth leave him. He was frozen for a minute. It was like his brain had suddenly stopped working. Then he heard the front door open and that seemed to snap him out of his frozen state. He dashed out into the hall way and saw Alfred at the open door with his back turned.

"Wait!" Arthur shouted again. Alfred didn't turn around but he did pause.

"Come back to me." He said weakly. Then in a stronger voice he didn't know he had he said "just come back. Please, someday just come back."

Alfred paused for a moment longer. Then he walked out and closed the door.

He was gone. The stinging in his was just unbearable then and Arthur started to cry.

Hello! This is my second ever Fanfic finished and the first one up on the net! So any comments would be welcome cuz I'm a little nervous! And I'm sorry this chapter is such a downer but I had to write it. I had spent the previous night reading Alfred and Arthur Fanfics and in the morning I had the strange urge to listen to the song Come Back to Me by David Cook and I thought that the song depicted England and America amazingly and then I got the urge to write so I did! . I think that this story will only have two chapters. So please comment it would be a mager boost for my writing confidence!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly , so that means I don't own the characters of Englad and America… or the song. I'm just barrowing them


	2. Chapter 2

I would like to say thank you to these people for supporting me!!

Stefan Bertram

Marisa-sama

And now on with the story!

Arthur stared out the window at the rain falling. It seemed that no matter how long he had stayed there or visited he still couldn't get used to this country's blasted weather. Yesterday it was bright and sunny; and inexplicable hot. The temperature had probably reached above ninety degrees. Which he supposed wasn't so bad now that he thought about it. Actually it wasn't exactly the heat that was getting to him. If anything it would have been the damn humidity that seemed to leave the air and anyone outside drenched. Now it was just cold and wet. Though all the humidity had gone so he supposed that was a bonus. But damn. If anyone cared to ask him he would have said that the weather was bipolar.

_But it's still sorta beautiful _he mused.

The summer here was a sharp contrast to the cold winter. The trees and the grass had turned an unearthly shade of green that seemed to fill the air with a sense of life. However amazing it was, the unrealistic color was slightly unsettling to him.

His gazed wandered away from the window to the room around him. Arthur was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea that had long since grown cold. The house around him was quite. All except the small ticks from a grandfather clock in the living room that could only be heard if one concentrated. It was dreadful to be in this house. It was empty and cold.

He let out a small sardonic chuckle. Cold indeed; the room that surrounded him had anything but a cold atmosphere. Its white cabinets and white and yellow striped walls were picturesque and could have been used in any home magazine searching for that 'warm, cozy cottage feeling'. And it wasn't just this room; the whole house gave off that feeling. Alfred had made sure of that.

Actually a few months ago that was exactly what this place felt to Arthur. It was made for them; it was supposed to be the place where they'd live together. But now the house was cold. The bright colors had faded and life left the hose.

He had decided to stay though. He wanted to be here in this deserted house just in case. He wanted to be here so that when Alfred got home… well… Arthur wasn't quite sure what he'd do but he'd do something, and he'd be damned if the idiot got off easy.

He had gone to great lengths to keep the house preserved. Alfred's cloths were still where he last tossed them all those days ago. His tooth brush remained untouched on the counter. Normally, such slight disarray in his house would have caused Arthur to go mental. But it was his lingering hope, or more accurately his lingering proof that Alfred had been in the house. That they had indeed lived together here.

Dissatisfied at the way his thoughts turned depressing, Arthur looked back to the teacup in his hand and swirled it around. Entertaining the thought of whether to just finish it off cold or stick it in the microwave to reheat the drink.

DONG—DONG—DONG

The grandfather clocks' loud chime erupted through the house, signifying that it was half past the hour. The sudden intrusion of the sound had caused Arthur to jump and slosh his brew and spill a drop or two on his pants. He set the cup down with a mild curse and rose to get himself a towel. Then it occurred to him…_ half past the hour? What time was it?_ With that he exited the kitchen and crossed the hall into the living room.

"God Bless It!" Arthur said as he looked at the clock to find that it was 12:30. He was supposed to meet Francis in fifteen minutes! And at the air port across town no less. So he rushed up stairs to change his stained pants and left the house, the cold tea in the kitchen forgotten for the moment.

Unfortunately for Arthur he was exactly two minutes late in picking Francis up. The damned man vented his displeasure at having to wait two whole bloody minutes in this 'torrential downpour.' Arthur scoffed at that and Francis threw a glare in his direction then proceeded to go into detail about his horrendous plane trip. He ranted the whole way to the restaurant which was again, all the way across town.

At first Arthur didn't say anything, just sat at the table while Francis ordered his meal. When the imbecile had finally stopped ordering and had started to flirt horribly with the timid waitress Arthur kicked his shins underneath the table. Not hard enough to make him scream in pain mind you, they were in a public place after all, but defiantly hard enough to leave a lovely black bruise. The insufferable French man gave a yelp and the waitress disappeared. Francis grumbled as he rubbed his injured leg.

"You know that's going to leave a bruise right?"

"So what?" Arthur snapped back, his temper rising again.

"You can't just go kicking a single man trying to flirt!"

"THAT was pure harassment you pervert! And I don't go around kicking flirts; just sick minded old men who are clearly unwanted."

"You also shouldn't insult people you're asking help from."

That caused Arthur to pause. "You've found something out then?"

Francis didn't say anything, just picked up his water and took a long sip. He made a face after he drank.

"I never liked the water here. They should buy water from France."

"Francis," there was a warning in his tone, daring the man to test him, "what have you found?"

"I wouldn't charge them too much, well, at first anyway." He continued to muse to himself.

"Francis, answer me." Arthur ordered curtly. The car ride over had burned his temper down to the wick and whatever tolerance he had managed to retain in an attempt to be polite to the other diners was quickly dissipating. But he just couldn't stand the damn frogs teasing. He was so hopeful and so absolutely terrified at the prospect of new information about Alfred.

"Maybe I could slip some type of dru—

"FRANCIS" Arthur practically shouted, drawing the eye of several curious or disgruntled diners.

The ass looked at him slowly, amusement clear on his bloody smirk.

"Tu es curieux?" He asked pleasantly.

"Don't screw with me." Arthur said in a deadly tone. "We had an agreement." He was beyond pissed of. The small spark of hope and his heart rate had been increasing by two fold every passing second. Surely the idiot wouldn't play his games unless he knew something right?

" C'est vrai. Nous avions un accord, n'est-ce pas?"

Arthur sighed and leaned back into his chair. "Please Francis, please just tell me what you know." He felt like he had been defeated. He had lost the game that the French man played but he couldn't find the want to care. He just wanted to know.

The look Francis gave him would have stabbed at his pride if things were normal.

"So I take it you haven't heard from him then." All traces of humor gone.

"No." Arthur said in a small voice. He had heard nothing. It had been half a year since he had last seen Alfred, last spoken to Alfred, and last heard from Alfred.

" To tell the truth mon cheri, I have not heard much." Arthurs' hopes plummeted. Apparently he could screw with people even if he had nothing of value.

"But you have heard something? Even a little bit of information can be useful." He hated the way hope had the habit of not dying.

"Oui, Matthew said he talked to Alfred in April."

He hated even more how hope could just jump right back up again. "Did he say anything?"

"Non, Matthew said that the conversation was pretty normal. He said that Alfred had just wanted to know what was up. And that was pretty much it."

"Oh." His face fell and he looked down at his tea. And an awkward silence soon fallowed. Apparently he could.

The waitress returned to place the food on the table and quietly left.

"But he did say he was in California," he included almost as if it was a second thought.

"And I have talked to the other countries and it seems he hasn't left the country."

Actually Arthur was pretty sure that it was a second thought, it still helped though. He supposed it was a comforting thought that Alfred was still in this country.

"Thank you Francis." Something in Arthur couldn't believe he was thanking that French bastard. But lately Arthur had been doing several things that were out of his character. "You have no idea how much it means to me."

The man looked at him with something dangerously close to pity, but he didn't catch it. Alfred was still here in America. _Well it is possible, he is the personification of the land so he could hide anywhere he damned well pleased._ It would also make sense that Arthur wouldn't be able to find him.

"Well I best be off." Arthur looked up startled by the sudden intrusion into his thoughts. He was already finished with his meal? He must have spaced out again.

"I'll drive you to the hotel." Arthur said in the midst of standing.

"Don't bother. Je crois que mon pauvre Coeur aurait une crise cardiaque si je devais mettre en place avec votre voiture!" Francis said while giving him a condescending look.

"Sod off." Arthur retorted as he sat back down. He didn't watch the man leave but he did hear his obnoxious laughter as he left the restaurant.

* * *

I HAVE A QUESTION FOR THE READERS!!!!

Hello everybody!!!! I'm sorry it took me so long to finish this chapter I actually meant to post it last week but I've hardly had the time to sit down and write. It doesn't help that my family has been using the computer all hours of the day. As you've probably figured out this will not just be a two shot I'm considering at least one or two more chapters. I have an idea for how this story will end but it seems to me that this story is writing its' self. Unfortunately for Arthur I might have to hurt him a bit more. But right now to continue on to the next chapter I need a name. It has to be a gay sounding name that's easily hated. My friends suggested Carlos and if I don't get anything better then that's what I'll use. So please send me a name!!! And of course if you would be so kind, any critique would be much appreciated! Thank You!!!

French Diction:

C'est vrai. Nous avions un accord, n'est-ce pas =

It's true. We had an agreement didn't we.

Je crois que mon pauvre Coeur aurait une crise cardiaque si je devais mettre en place avec votre voiture! =

I believe my poor heart would have a heart attack if I had to put up with your driving!


	3. Bonus Chapter

This is a bonus chapter!!!!! I just felt like writing it. The main story will continue after this so relax and enjoy!

Alfred was afraid for his life. He was sitting on the living room couch trying to focus on the T.V. However the constant stream of curses and loud thumps from the kitchen was very distracting.

Finally he gave up on the idea of any T.V. watching when a particularly loud crash was heard.

"Are you O.K.?" He shouted at the kitchen.

"Bloody… Yes I'm fine!!" Arthur shouted back. Then with some more cuss words mumbled he returned to his goal.

Alfred sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch he took off his glasses. Oh hell, he was sure he would die. _Why poor little ol' me? What did I ever do to deserve this? Mathew never had it so hard with his boyfriend! _He rubbed his face, _'cus Arthur is soo cute._ He would do anything to make the man happy and it seemed Arthur knew that. He would even eat his cooking if he had to.

"It's ready!" Arthur called back to him and a cold sweat broke out on Alfred.

_Run!!! You can still run!!!_ Alfreds mind and seemingly stomach yelled in his head. However his feet seemed to calmly carry him towards the kitchen. _Traitor! _His stomach yelled at his feet.

He walked into the room and Alfred was horrified at the site. There was some sort of neon multicolored goo stuck to the wall, ceiling, and several of the appliances. Pots and pans which hap originally been silver were now charred black and scattered everywhere; some of them even contained object that were beyond distinction. His eye caught something moving in one of the pots.

"Here Alfred" Arthur said while blushing and looking away, drawing the attention of the very terrified man who was trying **really** hard not to let it show.

He looked down at the plate extended toward him. There was something brown and slightly chunky on it.

"You made t-this?" He asked unsuccessfully keeping the tremor out of his voice.

"It's chocolate" Arthur said in a small voice looking a little crest fallen.

Slowly, Alfred reached out to the object almost as if it was going to bite him.

Noticing his hesitation Arthur started to withdrawal the plate, "you don't have to eat it." He said quietly.

Oh crap; Alfred used his lightning fast reflexes and snatched the "chocolate" of the plate and shoved it into his mouth without thinking. Arthur stared up at Alfred frozen.

_Garlic!!!_ His mind exclaimed. _He actually put garlic in chocolate!!!_

As he began to chew he realized several surprise ingredients in it. The stuff that made it look chunky was actually cereal, there where hints of cayenne powder, and a combination of garlic and what he thought might have been tomato.

Arthur was looking up at him in slight surprise but there was hope in there and an expectation. It seemed Alfred had singed away his soul to keep Arthur happy. He swallowed.

"Not *chough-chough* not bad." He said to Arthur. The smaller of the two looked at him as if he had lost his mind, but then he smiled and blushed. Alfred thought that small gesture was very cute and picked him up into a big hug.

His doing so caused Arthur, if at all possible, to blush harder and squeal with indignity.

"Put me down!" Arthur yelled.

"No way! I ate your food now its time for my reward!" Alfred shouted back with slight whine to his voice. There was, however, mischief in his eyes and a knowing smirk on his lips.

The look Alfred was giving him just made him blush more, if at all possible.

Alfred leaned down and kissed him squarely on the lips. There was more tenderness in his kiss than passion at first but as it went on it seemed that passion was growing in Alfred.

They broke from the kiss momentarily to breathe.

"Happy Valentines Day" Arthur said in an embarrassed tone.

Alfreds smirk grew wider. "Happy Valentines Day to you too," he whispered against Arthurs ear, the smaller man then shivered.

"Are you ready for my gift?" Arthur blushed some more.

Hello! Hope you enjoyed this small diversion from the story I just felt like writing it. And the next post will be the continuation of the main story I just didn't feel like writing something sad today but hopefully I will be able to post the next chapter within next week. So please review all criticisms and complements are much appreciated!


	4. Chapter 3

I'm sorry that the last chapter was kind of boring; this one I promise will have more drama. I know how I'm going to end the story but it might take some time for me to write it out. My upcoming schedule is going to be very busy if I want to be able to continue writing. But besides that was anyone else pissed off due to 2-10-10 updates of One Piece? I can't believe they killed Ace!!! But any ways, wish me luck and enjoy this chapter.

* * *

The grandfather clock rang signifying that it was now one in the afternoon. Arthur growled and dug his face further into his pillow thinking of all the ways he could destroy that clock. He didn't want to face the day and the idea of acting like the cowered he thought himself to be and staying in bed all day was looking **very** appealing. He had wondered what today would feel like now that Alfred had left him twice now. Now he knew. The 4th of July just sucked. He had spent the morning happily dozing and strangely not feeling the urge to get up and do something productive.

He scowled into his pillow; no longer was he peaceful, just unbearably uncomfortable. His muscles ached from their lack of use and he felt all the more exhausted. Yet an agitated feeling was coursing through his body. Finally, Arthur sighed in defeat and threw the covers off and hung his legs off the side of the bed. He had given up.

Well… almost. Arthur sat there on the edge with his toes just brushing up against the cool hardwood floor. And he sat there; starring at the light blue wall of the bed room. After a while he glanced to the clock on the night stand, its bright green digital numbers read back to him 1:28. He gave another sigh and stood to get dressed.

After dressing in a white cotton shirt (which might've not been his), worn loosely with the sleeves rolled just past his elbows, a pair of light blue jeans (which looked all too big for him), and deciding to go bare foot he looked toward their bed. The white sheets were in slight disarray from the previous nights sleep. He left the room and the bed that way and didn't feel the normal compulsion to fix messy things. Actually the lack of his normally overwhelming habits would cause more concern if he gave a damn that day.

Wandering down the stairs Arthur found himself in the living room. He paused and looked in the room. It looked the same as any old day. It bugged him. The throw blanket draped carelessly on the ottoman, the pillows placed in their exact spots, the remotes in order of use on the side table. There were no dirty dishes left about from late night T.V. snacks, there wasn't a sports magazine left out, there weren't any pairs of misplaced shoes left for him to trip over.

Arthur plopped himself down on the couched and turned on the T.V. It went straight to the news station it had been at for a week and not to the sports channel or a reality T.V. show or some dumb station that had played an all-night-long horror movie marathon. Nope, just straight to the news. And somehow this agitated Arthur.

Normally it'd be the opposite. He should have been annoyed for having to change the channel form those insufferable programs. Normally he'd have cursed and grumbled at being bombarded with the over dramatized, over manufactured, and the over produced antics of these idiotic stations that Alfred 'just had to watch'.

But on July 4th Arthur was more annoyed with the monotone voice of the anchorman. He found that there feigned interest in the 'local stores' annoying. Their fake smiles seemed to be mocking the common people of the smaller news.

Soon it was too much to deal with and he turned off the T.V. before he put a hole through its glass screen. There he slouched and rested his head against the back of the couch, scowling at the ceiling. After his annoyance was somewhat pacified he got up and wandered down the hall.

He arrived at the kitchen and paused, staring out the window. He glanced at the table and his anger rose. _God fucking damnit! How the hell can I still live here? _With that thought Arthur stomped down the hallway, grabbed a random pair of shoes and shoved them on his feet. After that he stood and roughly grabbed the keys that were continently by the door (which had not been there on several occasions in the past), he yanked the door open and slammed it after him; locking the door and very shortly later driving off ( going a little bit too fast if asking a pedestrian in the vicinity).

And with that Arthur effectively left the seemingly static and lifeless house.

Arthur drove long and hard. He left the radio off and drove at least 10 mph faster than the speed limit allowed. He'd speed past those who were driving too slowly for his taste, dancing about the other cars if one was to put it in poetic terms. However, poetic or not he was driving rather recklessly on a popular interstate. Soon Arthur's sense told him that despite the fact that he could not die in a car crash being a personification of England and all, albeit he would be seriously injured and if push comes to shove in a coma for a few days, but the American mortals around him could die. Alfred probably wouldn't appreciate his people dying due to his reckless driving when he came back.

_As if the bloody fucker is coming back, _Arthur thought bitterly.

So he departed the highway and opted for a very curvy and seldom used country road. He didn't decrease his speed and instead pushed down harder on the gas pedal.

After several hours of driving Arthur found himself approaching New York City and after another few hours of traffic he entered the city.

He left his car in a parking garage and started walking aimlessly about the city. He watched the people walking about him while carefully avoiding eye contact, marveling at the vast diversity between each face. Arthur thought that each person bared some slight resemblance to Alfred. Sure, there was no extreme resemblance between the people and the country but they were slight, insignificant similarities that Arthur saw. The way that man spoke in a tone that was mostly humorous but was serious at the same time and the way that woman looked hopefully into the shop window. It was the way that teenager laughed unadulterated, the way that the small child smiled innocently. It was even the way the old man on the benched and watched him with what seemed all the wisdom in the world. He felt a dismal smile form on his lips, _Of course they would remind me of him. For what is a country but all the people who live in it?_

But it wasn't just the people he looked at; Arthur looked into the stores as well. He would pause in front of certain stores and try to picture the clothes on Alfred. One store in particular named 'Yellow Rat Bastard' caught his attention. It was a store appealing to teens and young adults and truth be told he was more interested in the name than anything else. Go figure you'd find a store like that in this city.

Eventually Arthur found himself at central park. His feet were slightly aching from his long trek across the city so he sat down on a bench spreading his arms along the back and crossing his legs so that his ankle was resting on his knee. He looked up to the blue sky through the thick foliage of the trees and closed his eyes, thankful for the warmth the sun was spreading down.

He opened his eyes slowly leaving them slightly hooded and sighed. It seemed that everyone was in good cheer today, 'cept him of coarse. As he sat there and listened to the shouts of the families and children running about he closed his eyes and basked in the dappled shade the trees provided.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Suddenly Arthur snapped his eyes open and sat up, his back ramrod straight; there he froze ears listening attentively to hear that voice again.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a bit. I'm at the park right now."

He scanned the crowed looking for the source of the voice. Then he spotted him. He was right there, blonde hair glowing in the sun, cell phone against his ear, sitting in a bench on the next lane to him.

Arthur shot up out of his seat and started walking fast and shouted "ALFRED!"

"Would you like me to bring anything?" _Damn the man! Didn't he hear me?_ He was closer now a scant 5 feet away.

"ALFRED!" Arthur shouted again clasping his hand on the mans shoulder. He turned around and stared up at Arthur with a slightly startled expression on his face.

"Who the hell are you?" The man asked. It was not Alfred.

Arthur froze staring in shock at the man who's shoulder his had was grasping. All too suddenly reality caught up with him. It wasn't Alfred. He let go of the foreign mans shoulder and his hand slightly trembled.

"I'm s-sorry. I … I mistook you for someone … else." And with that Arthur turned and walked slowly away.

Arthur wandered listlessly through the city, bumping a few disgruntled city dwellers and not hearing there insults or threats. His mind felt like it was wiped clean. _It wasn't him_ Was the only thought that had resounded in his head. Soon he felt an all too familiar stinging in his eyes.

He stopped his walking and looked up at the neon light glowing in the shop window next to him indicating that yes, they were open. The sun had long since set and Arthur walked into the bar he had stopped in front of. He felt the strong urge to have a very heavy drink.

It was a dank little place with what seemed to have mostly people who looked like regulars. He found himself a seat at the bar stool and starred at the polished wood of the bar.

"What'll you have?" asks the bartender.

Arthur looks up at the man with hollow eyes; "Whatever's the strongest" he states in a dead tone. The bartender gives him a slightly a troubled glance but soon leaves to fulfill the order. A minute later a shot glass is placed in front of him and the bartender pours in the shot.

"Leave the bottle please."

Again the bartender looks at him, as if debating whether or not to do as asked, but shortly leaves.

Arthur picked up the small glass and looked into the golden brown liquid. Then, with a quick movement he downs the bourbon.

After 5 more shots Arthur starts to feel the effects taking place and notices that its mostly men in this bar but there are a few women around.

3 more shots Arthur begins to feel like he's being stared at. He downs another shot. A man comes up next to him.

"Hi" he says. _'e looks like a bloody Spaniard. That or somein' o' the likings._

"Wot 'he bloody 'ell do –hic- you want?" Arthur says slightly annoyed of the others presence.

"Oh nothing, I just thought you could use a little company" Says the man.

"Don need company."

"Ohh I think you do. Tell me, what's bothering a man like you?" The Spaniard purrs.

Arthur looks at him. _Look's like a dec'nt 'nough cove._ "Why'd you care." Arthur replies with a sniff.

"We all care" he sounds offended, "don't we boys?" he calls out to the rest of the patrons. There's much agreement and 'here, here' replies around.

Arthur picks up his bottle and finds it to be empty.

"Bartender, another two bottles if you please!" calls the man. He turns back to Arthur "my name is Carlos."

" 'he names Arthur,"

"Well Arthur, it's a pleasure to meet such a **fine **man here." Carlos says with a grin.

The pair starts chatting; well Carlos chats while Arthurs loudly slurs his responses. Time passes and so do the shots.

Soon Arthur can't remember how much alcohol he's consumed. But he thinks its number 25 he's on.

Few more shots latter and Arthur can't remember anything,

Arthur woke the next morning to a pounding head ache. He lifted his hands and covered his face to rub away the sleep. He sat there in his bed while trying not to move or think, least he aggravate his head ache. Eventually a peculiar smell registered in his brain, the smell of an omelet and what also smelled like coffee.

He stopped breathing. _No way._

His eyes popped open and his brain no longer had the hazy feel of sleep. He sat up straight in his bed. _No,_ he thought. It wasn't his bed, it wasn't even his room. He took in the unfamiliar surroundings, and then noticed himself to be in a severe state of undress. He ripped off the covers and jumped from the bed as if there was a poisonous snake next to him. He quickly found his cloths that were strewn across the floor and dressed.

He left the strange room and found himself in a short hall way. He proceeded until a doorway into a kitchen came across his path. There he found a strange man who appeared to be cooking eggs.

The man turned around and spotted Arthur standing there in the door way.

"Ah good, your awake." He said in a dull tone.

Arthur said nothing at first then asked "who are you?"

"You don't remember me?" He said in a sardonic voice, "It's Carlos, the man you slept with last night."

Arthur froze again and felt a stabbing pain in his heart. "I… slept… with?"

"Yes that's right, finally catching on hmm?" he mocked.

Arthur stared blankly at the man.

"Look, I made you breakfast if you want it, but I want you out of my apartment as soon as your done." He said bluntly.

"Wha… how did this happen?" Arthur asked slightly stupefied.

"I got you drunk, ok? To the point that you couldn't say no, are you understanding me? So now get out of my apartment. I've no further use for you."

Arthur snaps out of his stupor. He turns quickly and storms down the hall to a door that looks like the exit. He yanks open said door and finds the outside to be like a hotel hallway. As he exits the apartment he hears Carlos sneer at him "Send my regards to Alfred."

Arthur doesn't bother with the elevators and runs down the stairs and out the apartment building.

He eventually finds his car and gets in. Arthur had run about 15 blocks before he started to figure out where he last left it. Resting his forehead against the steering wheel he tries to calm his breathing down. But to no avail. Tears start to fall as reality sinks into his mind. His heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest. He soon fell into giant sobs that caused his entire being to shake.

After about an hour or so his sobbing subsided to quite sniffles. He turned the engine and slowly pulled out of the parking space.

Arthur then began the long drive home.

Ok! Sorry if that sucked. I had to write it. But no worries! It will have a happy ending. I can't stand otherwise. And sorry for not releasing sooner, my school work is taking up most of my time. Well as always please review, anything is greatly appreciated. Ohh and the next chapter might be the last!


	5. Chapter 4

Well hello folks this is the last chapter in this story I think; we'll know for sure at the end of it. But I'm starting to think about doing a sequel. I'm thinking something on the humorous side I just need to think of a good plot line. I have a few Ideas bouncing around in my head.

So anyways I've been reading the Bloody Jack book series by L. A. Meyer, bought books three and four last month and of course I love it I recommend it to anyone who likes English pirates and the royal navy and what not. I particularly loved this one page, it really made me laugh.

In the Belly of the Blood Hound; pg. 87:

We work on Herr Mozart's String Quartet in B Flat, the _Hunt Quartet_, and some of Herr Haydn's stuff, too. There are sure a lot of Germans in this business, I'm thinking as I saw away on poor Lady Gay, but, hey, they seem to be good at it, so why not? But what are we Brits especially good at? Architecture? No, the French have it all over on us on that. Art? No, we ain't a patch on the Italian artists when it comes to painting and sculptures and stuff. What, then? _Ah, _I conclude glumly, _It's war, bloody war, and war at sea, at that._

Well I just loved that little exert and laughed my ass off when I read it (also made my color guard and Hetlia friends giggle as well.) Well anyway on with the story.

Arthur striped himself of his cloths and changed into his sleep wear. The mechanical way he did it might suggest to one that he was not all there in the head… not in the insane way mind you, but in a way that would suggest that he was preoccupied with his thoughts. He picked up the cloths making the polished hardwood floor once again spotless. After depositing them into the wash basket he sat down on the edge of the bed and stared off into the air.

A little over a month had passed since the incident but his heart still felt heavy. He no longer randomly cried when in the house, but he still felt bad… well bad was an underestimation; he felt completely wrenched. As twisted as it was Arthur felt that he had betrayed Alfred. He let out a somewhat mad chuckle at the thought. He betrayed Alfred?! Fuck, if anything Alfred had betrayed him. But still…

True, he had no control over the situation but it was ultimately his fault. He allowed himself to get hopeful, allowed himself to believe, then he allowed that hope to crush him. That came falling down like a tone of bricks. And of coarse it was his fault that he wandered into a bare and got completely smashed… without checking what type of bar it was… so, yes, it was his fault.

Somewhere, way, deep down within him, a small whisper of a voice told him it didn't matter. He didn't need to feel this devastated for over that bastard. Alfred had left him. That voice, he supposed, was what was left of his pride. And unfortunately its words, as right as they most likely were, fell on deaf ears. And despite the incident in the park, he still felt a damned shred of hope clinging to the muscle in his chest. Arthur still felt that there was a slight chance.

He flung himself down onto the bed so that he was no longer sitting but lying down on the cool comforter. He stared absently at the hands in front of him.

_Well thinking about it isn't going to make me feel better,_ he thought to himself. So Arthur used the last of his almost nonexistent energy and crawled into the blankets and slipped into darkness.

_THUD_

Arthurs' brain registered a muffled thump in the quiet night. Slowly, he opened his sleep blurred eyes. Honestly he was slightly confused as to why there would be such a sound in the night… in his house… in his room… while the owner slept. And something tugged at his brain told him he should probably be feeling something along the lines of extreme fear or be very angry at the intruder. However he could only muster a slight annoyance at being awoken.

After rubbing his eyes, in hopes to clear his sight, with no avail, Arthur propped himself on his elbow and looked around the room; which did him no bloody good really, partially because there was no moon out in the night. He was about to lay back down again when he heard another low thud coming from the opposite side of the bed. Arthur reared his muddled head slowly around to the direction of the noise to find a burry figure of a man sitting on the other side of the bed, his back facing him.

Arthur found it slightly odd that the man was there, as opposed to actually being in the bed. He watched the mans back as he striped himself to his boxers and finally placed a pair of glasses on the side table. Then when he finished undressing he turned and placed a knee on the bed leaning onto it, lifting the sheets. But he paused when he saw Arthur watching him over his shoulder.

"Sorry," the man whispered, looking into Arthurs half lidded green eyes. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Eyes slightly more clear, he looked up at the mans familiar face, looking into the splotches of blue that seemed to shine, even in the absolute darkness. He starred for a minute then mumbled back his reply.

"Uh n'ver mean t'."

He smiled at that and slipped in between the covers. "G'night Iggy," he whispered back, shut his eyes and went to sleep. Arthur continued to watch the man till his breath came in soft, little puffs.

It was then that he moved. He dragged himself to the man and snuggled himself into the mans chest and closed his eyes. He felt the man move a moment latter. His arms drew over Arthur wrapping him into a warm embrace. He felt the soft mouth place a kiss on top of his head and smile into his hair. Arthur then listened to the mans breathing slow again. The rhythmic sound and movement of Alfreds' chest lulled Arthur to sleep.

As he sank into the blackness that surrounded him again and he felt a thought form around his incoherent state

_I hope I remember this dream._

Warmth. That was probably the first thing Arthur felt, the warmth of the sun penetrating through the window onto his body. He was still not completely there though; he was still floating in a state of dream and awareness. The second thing he sensed was something that smelled very appealing that mixed with the sun shine. It was an altogether pleasant feeling that bearded a hint of nostalgia.

The third thing he realized was how odd this all was. He shouldn't be feeling the sun warming his flesh. His side of the bed was always in the shadow of the room. And he wasn't one to roll around in his sleep, unless he was drunk. But he clearly recalled going to bed very somber. So why was he on HIS side of the bed?

He also shouldn't smell this delicious sent. It almost smelt like waffles, and tea. Arthur's train of thought paused there as if too tired to carry on. There was something else in the smell. It was very familiar but unrecognizable in his morning stupor. And the annoying thing was it felt like it was something that was banging on the front door of his memory.

Well, what ever it was, it was too impatient for him to get his ass in gear and kicked open the door in his memory. It was coffee.

Not just any coffee though. It was ALFREDS' coffee. The same exact type that Arthur thought he got from some smuggling business because you couldn't find it anywhere else.

And with that his eyes snapped open no linger feeling tired. Arthur stared at the ceiling in shocked silence; of course some part of him calmly realized that he indeed was on Alfred's side of the bed, but that part of the brain had been completely forgotten. And it was at that exact moment his brain supplied him with a moment from his forgotten dream.

"…_n'ver mean t'."_

_He smiled at that and slipped in between the covers. "G'night Iggy". His arms drew over Arthur wrapping him into a warm embrace. He felt the soft mouth place a kiss on top of his head and smile into his hair._

_Oh… My… GOD…_

He launched the covers off and practically ran off the bed. Well, he would've run, but within milliseconds of his feet hitting the floor they tangled in an object in his path. And Arthur fell face down onto the cold polished wood.

He mumbled a few curses and lifted himself onto his knees and looked behind him. _What the hell was th…_

Pants. There were pants on the floor. And a shirt and a pair of tan work boots that were crusted with mud. Boots that were **way** too **big** for him. He stared at them in shock for a moment. There was no way in hell he had left those there. He launched himself off the floor and reached the door, which was inconveniently placed across the room, in three very lengthy strides. Arthur continued his pace into the hall but stopped at the foot of the stair, breath coming in a slight pant from the slight exertion… or the adrenaline.

He stood there and debated whether or not to go down the stairs to see if it was true. He could almost hear his bed calling back to him asking him to sink back into the peaceful state of ignorance. His pulse raced and his body, which should have been tired after just waking up, felt excited. Every muscle in his body wanted to move, to do something, anything, anything but stand there. His brain wanted to stay upstairs and refused to let his body move. Arthur was afraid. And his fear had him frozen in place.

But his heart wanted to know, to find out. So, bighting at his bottom lip, he slowly descended the stairs. Each step seemingly pushing more adrenaline into his body, to the point that by the time he reached the last step his body trembled.

_Just a few more steps…_

Pressing his body against the wall, Arthur stood just behind the entrance into the kitchen where the smell was coming from. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. All Arthur would need to do is move his head a few inches and he would see. His throat felt as if it was parched and the room had gone up fifty degrees.

_I can't do it,_ he thought to himself._ There's just no way._

_Oh just stuff it will you! _Pride shouted at him. _If it is him, then you should go in and beat the __**bloody fucker**__ to a pulp for leaving you! ……. and if it isn't him you should still go in and beat the intruder._

The voice in his head had a point, he thought dryly. He swallowed and opened his eyes. Slowly, he moved his head and looked into the kitchen.

Ok….. well I was going to finish it with this one but…. I feel like writing another chapter. I was going to make this one really long but I decided that I had another one in me. PLEASE DON'T HATE!!!! I'll try to make the next one amazing!!! I will end it though. I think it's amazing I was just going to make this a little two shot but look at it now! I swear this story just writes itself!

So please review! Any comments will be greatly appreciated! Even hate mail! And of course if you would like to make any corrections to my grammar, go right ahead.

And thank you sooo much to all who have favorite-ed (?), commented, or liked my writing style.


	6. Final Chapter

Ok everyone, I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long to put up. I don't really have a good excuse but here it is: I had midterms, three group projects, a crap load of homework, an essay for English and French class, Championships in Winter Guard and during spring break was in a place with no Internet. There that's my excuse. But it took a lot to write this chapter, I wanted to make sure it was cool 'cuz it's the last hoorah of the story! And I had my friend edit the grammar so that should be better. But here's a cool fun-fact for ya!

There is no 'National Language' in America!!!!

Wikipedia told me that… Bet you didn't know that no did ya? Well, anyways, here's the last chapter

* * *

Arthur hissed as he placed the cold compress against his hand. It was red and starting to swell up and there was an ache that started in his knuckles and seemed to run up his arm. He frowned at it and thought: _maybe I shouldn't have punched him so hard._

Arthur had been shocked to say the least. There was a person in his kitchen... cooking his food... on his stove... with his frying pan and spatula... using his gas. But that wasn't what had him frozen to his spot. But said person was oblivious to Arthur's presence at the door.

After the initial shock passed, Arthur began to take everything about the person in and began comparing him to his memory. The strong shoulders that seemed to show even through the loose tee-shirt, the long legs that enabled the person to tower over him, the tan skin that always held the kiss of the summer sun, all of what used to be was there. He watched the person move about his workspace with knowing grace, the way the person's well built arms and hands move about the food. He watched the way his golden hair had a particular warm glow in the sunlight that spilled from the window, the warmth made him think of wheat fields in the summer.

He was almost sure now. The person's movements and the pitch of his hum resembled him so very much, but he couldn't be sure that it was him. He couldn't see his face. Arthur began to feel the warm prickle of tears come to his eyes.

_No!_ Arthur mentally scolded himself, _I won t cry anymore!_ So Arthur became what he couldn't become in all those months when he wasn't here. He became angry. He felt months of frustration flood his body and his muscles twitched for something.

Then the cook who had broken into his house and was cooking his food turned around. Green eyes met sky blue ones and, just as quickly as it came, Arthur s strength left him leaving a hollow feeling. At first nothing happened, their eyes just stared at the other and their bodies were frozen in place.

Then a slow, timid smile spread across the persons face.

"Hey Iggy, how's it going?"

With that Arthur was snapped out of his reprieve and dropped his gaze to his still bare feet, anger coursed through his veins and his face flushed a brilliant shade of red. He still couldn't move however and the excess adrenaline caused his body to tremble.

The man took a step forward and was looking at Arthur in concern. "You ok?" He asked with an anxious voice.

Arthur's head snapped up and he glared at the taller man, who, in receiving the deadly look, rocked back onto his heels. That very stupid question was the key that unlocked Arthur's movements. The smaller man charged across the tiled floor his hands clenching into fists. As soon as he was close enough Arthur pulled his arm back and swung at the man with all his might.

Arthur punched Alfred.

The force of the punch caused Alfred to lose balance and stumble backwards, falling to the ground. He lifted his hand slowly to his now injured cheek and looked up at Arthur slightly bewildered. If he was concerned before he was now slightly panicked. The smaller man was no longer looking at him but at his feet, shaking violently, from what he could see, his face was completely red. It was a frightening sight but Alfred couldn't help but think that Arthurs red face was cute, despite the fact that said cute person had just decked him. _Maybe I'm a sadist..._ he then realized that Arthur was saying something.

"Umm... Could you repeat that please?" Alfred asked hesitantly.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK?!!!!!" Arthur shouted. "I'VE BEEN LIVING IN THIS GODDAMND HOUSE THIS WHOLE ENTIRE FUCKING TIME!"

Alfred shrank back against the outburst; despite all the years they spent apart after the Revolutionary War, he would have to admit that when Arthur was pissed he could still be intimidating as hell. He watched as Arthur seemed to at least try to reign in his anger. Arthur didn't look like he was winning. Alfred decided that it was for his own well being to remain on the floor instead of getting up and risking the chance of being punched again.

Arthur felt like he was having a mental breakdown. _Why is he here?! He has to be completely stupid to believe he can just come back like that. GODDAMNIT!_

"How could you just leave like that?! Just what do you think I am, huh?!" Arthur could feel the prickly sensation of tears in his eyes again. He knew that a whole sob fest was going to happen soon, but the tears weren't because he was sad. Quite the opposite actually. Arthur couldn't understand why but for some reason or another he was so damn happy. He was happy Alfred was there on the floor; his evil side was happy he was experiencing pain for making him wait so long. But overall he was all together happy that Alfred was there.

But he'd be damned before he let Alfred know that.

"How the bloody hell could you just do that to me?!" Arthur paused then, glaring down at the blond man still on the floor, trying to calm his breathing which had somehow become hurried pants. _Maybe you're hyperventilating_, some remote part of his brain commented.

Arthur dropped his gaze to the floor. "Do you have any fucking idea what it was like?" His voice broke on the 'it'.

Alfred was speechless, to say the least. He wanted to say something that would clam down the angry Brit. But his brain had decided that it didn't quite know how to manage his situation, and thus rendered him unable to form sentences, let alone words. He just stared, completely dumbfounded, at the trembling form above him for a good long moment, trying to get a grip on the chaos in his head.

After what seemed like forever, all Alfred's brain could come up with was one word, and what a word it was. But it felt somewhat overused, and his brain silently cursed the English language for being inefficient.

"Sorry."

And with that the flood gates opened. Tears streamed down Arthur's face and his legs gave way to the weight of gravity as he sank to the floor. Sobs racked through his body and he buried his face in his hands. All the pent up stress, the sleepless nights, the dreams of the night he wasn't able to fall straight into a dark oblivion, the loneliness that plagued his waking hours, all of that flowed down his face.

And there they sat, on the cold kitchen floor with the smell of breakfast in the air. Alfred watched the smaller man cry. Eventually, he let go of his sore cheek and got on to his knees and crawled over to Arthur. Hesitantly, mostly because he didn't want to get hit again, he reached his arms out and he grasped hold of Arthur in an embrace.

Arthur was no longer terribly angry, but he had half a mind to push the blond man away. But then again, it had been a long time since he had last been held, so he buried his face in the crook of Alfred neck and let his sent overwhelm his senses instead. And he let it all go.

"Where were you?" were the only words that came through the sobs.

Alfred closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows. A small frown found its way onto his face and he held the small man tighter.

"I'm sorry." Was all he could whisper back.

An hour must have passed before Arthur calmed down to the point where his sobs became soft whimpers. He did, however, feel completely exhausted. An emotional outburst really took a lot out of a person, but he felt that he could relax now and that everything would be ok. Either way, he was tired. To the point where he couldn't really think or move for that matter, all he wanted to do now was sleep. Alfred realized that Arthur was almost half asleep in his arms and lifted both of them off the floor, carrying Arthur over to the couch in the living room. There he laid Arthur down, using one of the many couch cushions as a pillow.

Arthur's eyes remained closed as Alfred situated himself on the floor. He crossed his arms and placed them on the cushion by Arthur's face. He reached his hand out to Arthur's face and his fingers lightly brushing the delicate tears that remained on Arthur's cheeks. Even after the tears had disappeared and the whimpers were replaced with shallow, even breaths, Alfred's fingers lingered on Arthurs face, tracing senseless patterns across it. Eventually his hand cupped the others face so that his fingers rested in the Arthur's soft hair.

"I'm sorry" he whispered to the now sleeping English man. "I promise never to leave you again."

Alfred watched Arthur for a long time after he said his promise, searching for some sign of recognition; some type of subconscious movement that told him that Arthur had forgiven him, he supposed. He wasn't quite sure what to look for though, and when nothing happened he gave a deep sigh.

That caused Arthur to stir, and the Brits eyes gradually blinked open. Alfred stood from his spot as Arthur did from his. Arthur moved his hand to rub his eyes but when the hand made contact with his eye Arthur gasped.

"Ow." Then he remembered that he had punched the American in front of him.

"I'll go get an ice pack." Alfred said and left the room.

Arthur watched him leave and a frown formed on his face as his eyes dropped onto a magazine that was on the coffee table before him. _Oh great, I just had a mental friggen' breakdown in front of the one person I didn't want to…_

Arthur's thought was cut short when the aforementioned person walked back into the room with ice pack wrapped in a towel in hand. He looked up and watched as Alfred made his way to him. When Alfred reached him, he held out the compress without meeting his eyes.

"Here," he said simply.

Arthur took the cold object and looked back down at the coffee table. "Thanks," he mumbled out.

A very awkward moment occurred as Alfred stood next to Arthur, not looking in his direction. Arthur wasn't exactly making it any better either. He just glanced around the room and avoided looking at the man still standing at his side.

"I…" Alfred started, but he seemed to lose his nerve and continued with a hurried, "I'll go make you some tea," and left the room again.

Arthur's green eyes followed the man out the room, and he dropped back down onto the sofa when Alfred vanished behind the wall. _Good lord, this is going to be both awkward and hard. _His mind wandered over what happened this morning and he felt his cheeks warm when the memories of his outbreak passed through his mind. Needless to say, Arthur felt extremely embarrassed and slightly peeved at the fact that his resolve was so week.

When a rather cold droplet of water feel onto his wrist he promptly remembered that there was a compress that needed to be put on his hand.

Arthur hissed as he placed the cold compress against his hand. It was red and starting to swell up and there was an ach that started in his knuckles and seemed to run up his arm. He frowned at it and thought: _maybe I shouldn't have punched him so hard._

…_The bastard deserved it… _Arthur's mind decided. _It's not my dam…_ his thoughts were interrupted yet again when a high pitched whistle sounded from the kitchen. Arthur realized then that he had to stay calm and get some answers out of Alfred. By the time Alfred walked back into the room with two steaming cups Arthur was already planning on what to say.

Alfred placed a cup of yellowish liquid in front of Arthur and decided to sit in one of the arm chairs instead of standing awkwardly again. Arthur noted that the American had taken the chair situated on the left side of the couch, as opposed to the one on the right. His mind also noted that it was the farthest Alfred could get from Arthur without being flat out rude. But Arthur still took slight offence to it. _Maybe I'm over analyzing things._

The ticking of the grandfather clock sounded louder than ever. Everything was so still it was almost hard to breathe. Just the intake of breath had the loudness of a train wreck to Arthur. It was unnerving, so he lifted his eyes off the table and slyly looked over to Alfred. _Why won't he say anything?_

Little to Arthur's knowledge, Alfred was wondering the same thing. His fingers inconspicuously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he looked everywhere in the room except at the assumed angry British man on the couch. He wanted to sigh, break something, jump up and do some activity, or just… well something to shatter the silence that filled the room. But he knew he couldn't. He knew his… actions were a serious matter and nothing could lighten the air until he was forgiven. But he couldn't help thinking that the heavy atmosphere was unbearable. _If only I knew what to say._

While Alfred was preoccupied on how to speak, Arthur observed his counterpart. He could tell Alfred was nervous as hell, due to the fidgeting of not only his hand, but the constant shift in his body. His legs would change position on the floor; he would slouch and then sit up straight, he nibbled on his lip and his eyes were constantly moving everywhere. _I'm going to have to start this, aren't I? _Arthur sighed heavily.

The sudden release of air caused Alfred to jump, and for the first time since Arthur had woken again, he looked at him. Their eyes connected and he stopped fidgeting.

After a moment Arthur placed the compress on the coffee table, then leaned forward and rubbed his face in his hands and sighed again.

"Well?" was all he said.

Silence for another moment then "Well…. What?" The American replied in a small voice.

Arthur felt a small vein pulse in his head; "Well, where were you?" he tried again.

"Where… oh, um everywhere… I suppose."

"You suppose? Where is 'Everywhere'?" Arthur asked again his voice was just ever so slightly strained.

"Umm… everywhere… in America?" It was as if he was afraid to get a wrong answer.

"And?"

"… And?" The tall blond repeated.

"Why where you 'everywhere'?"

"I… well… I was… unsure."

Arthur felt a twinge in his gut, _unsure of what? Their relationship?_

"About what?" Arthur asked quietly. He didn't really want to ask that question, and his mind kept going over the possibilities of Alfred's answer. But he knew if he was going to get any answers or… any closure… he needed the information.

"…" Again, the language that was used the most in his country was useless.

"W-well?" he hated the fact that his voice was trembling.

It was Alfred's turn to sigh and rub his face then. He leaned all the way back in the chair so that his head rested against the back. He was silent for a while as he though about how to sum it up in words.

"Well, let's see…" Alfred said after thinking quietly, "I think I was… unsure of myself."

Arthur stared at him and his mouth hung open.

"How can you be unsure of yourself?! You're the fucking Untied States!" was what he shouted at him.

Well, at least that's what he WANTED to shout at him. He didn't get the chance to because Alfred had started talking before he could say anything.

"It was right before my economy dropped. Something just felt, I don't know, off. I felt… Ugh, how do I say this… Well, I just felt wrong; I don't think I can describe it."

Arthur didn't quite know how to respond to this so he opted to keep quiet and wait for the continuation, which did happen after a short while.

"I felt angry. Mostly because I didn't know how to change it, and it felt like no matter what I did, I couldn't do anything right… And while I was feeling… off… I could tell it was bothering you, but I didn't know how to change it.

'Something felt wrong in my country, it was like the people were restless about something that was… unknown. On the day that I left, it had gotten to the point where I just couldn't stand it. I just… had to leave."

Alfred stopped talking after that. Somehow, as Arthur was listening, his gaze had wandered back to the tea and compress that were in front of him. He honestly didn't know what to think, it all seemed too unrealistic… but as a fellow country he knew that sometimes these things happened. He remembered points in his history where he felt restless and had to go out and be amongst his people. But still, he was slightly unnerved that Alfred hadn't told him before.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur's eyes went back to Alfred, the younger nation was staring at him.

"I know… I knew I should have told you, but I just couldn't."

_Goddamnit... _Arthurs eyes were stinging again.

"I really am sorry." Alfred said earnestly, Arthur felt his throat close.

When Arthur didn't say anything Alfred sighed and dropped his head. _Well…It was worth a try. _ He stood up then and headed back to the door.

Arthur's eyes widened when the other stood and followed the figure across the room. _He's leaving again! Do something!! _Arthur's mind shouted at him. _DO SOMETHING!!!!_

"Wah-WAIT!" Arthur shouted and launched himself out of his seat, reaching his hand to the man across the room.

Alfred froze in his spot.

"…" Arthur felt like crying again and his hand slowly retracted to his body. "W-ho said you could le-leave." His voice was trembling.

Alfred turned his head back to Arthur.

"Y-you ca-can't leave." Arthur said in a small voice. He felt warm tears slip down his face. His body trembled and his face was flushed. _He can't leave… _Arthur squeezed his eyes shut.

Then he felt arms encircle him and his eyes snapped back open. Arthur was confused for a seconded then he felt a new wave of embarrassment crash on him.

"I'm sorry!" Alfred said.

"L-let go." He said as he tried to wriggle free but much to his chagrin the arms just tightened further. Eventually he gave up trying to break free.

"Go-Goddamn it." Arthur muttered as tears streamed down his face and soaked Alfred's shirt.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He mumbled. "I won't leave." He promised.

"How do y-you know?"

"I won't leave, I promise." Alfred said that with such a conviction in his voice that Arthur was finding it hard to doubt him. So after a few sniffles and Arthur was back in control of his emotions, he applied a light pressure to Alfred's chest indicating that he should let go.

Alfred got the message so he lessened his grip on the older man but refused let the man leave his arms. Arthur sighed and looked up at Alfred's face. There was an emotion in his eyes that he couldn't quit place. It was a concerned look that held a tinge of guilt but it had so much hope in it.

"I can't forgive you." Arthur said. He watched as the others face fell and the look of a wounded small animal entered his eyes.

"Therefore" He continued slowly, then paused as Alfred looked at him curiously, "you need to stay here and make it up to me." Alfred's face did a complete 180. He had a small smile on his face and he felt as if something had loosened inside of him then swelled up. He felt chocked up and couldn't say anything at all.

Suddenly Alfred was hugging Arthur again but this time tighter than he had before.

"Thank you. I promise." Was all he was able to get out. Arthur smiled, then returned the embrace.

"I'm glad you came back."

-End-

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